My New Bachelor Boyfriend

I don't make a habit of falling in love on a first date. In fact, it has been years since I felt this rush of nutty energy after just one meeting. Afterward, I couldn't sleep. Instead, awake for hours, I planned our next encounter. What will I wear? What will we eat? What cocktail will I order?

I've mentioned before that I don't pretend to be a professional food and dining critic, and that is (one of the reasons) why you'll never read slams on this blog. I do, however, reserve these pages for the occasional "you gotta try this" endorsement. I fell hard last week for The Bachelor Farmer (as well as his brother, Marvel Bar, who lives in the basement).

My friends and I read plenty of reviews about the Dayton brothers' new establishments. Two things stood out: the promise of Nordic fare, and the difficulty of finding the downstairs bar. We left work early Thursday to weave our way through the Northloop, formerly known as Minneapolis's warehouse district, nervous about locating Marvel, which lacks signage. "We have to find the purple door," I chanted our mantra. "Find the purple door."

We found the speakeasy inside the purple door. Marvel Bar is a breathtaking room. The interior is Mrs. Brady meets IKEA (in a very, very good way).

Bartender Pip Hanson became a local darling during his years of deft and inventive bar keeping at both La Belle Vie and Town Talk Diner. As we perused the drink menu Hanson gently guided our selections, "If this is your first time here, I recommend ordering something from the classics menu." Then told us he's been a little obsessed with martinis lately. Hanson's dance with bitters and a shaker is nothing short of a ballet. He spritzes and perfumes and presents beverages so perfect, so lovely, so subtle... no words... possible tears... It was all so perfectly pretentious and yet, not. In Hanson's hands, pretension becomes practical.

Go to Marvel as the doors open (5 PM weekdays) and sit at the red and white vinyl barstools, then be sure to ask Hanson about the ice he hand-picks (special cube shapes optimized and personalized for each order), his five years in Tokyo, and the history of the liquor in your glass. He is the love child of a bar encyclopedia and Justin Timberlake.

Upstairs in The Bachelor Farmer, slightly tipsy and ready for dinner, my friends and I questioned out server Michelle about the clean, bright restaurant and the food. The three of us are Scandinavian and lovers of all things Nordic. Michelle approved of our selections: celery root and apple soup, brandade of salted lingcod, roasted beet salad, cured steelhead trout, rabbit liver pate (which we coined Bunny Butter), lefse, and meatballs.

We shared a bottle of sparkling wine (Schloss, say it three times fast after drinking one of Hanson's martinis), a few cups of coffee, and a lovely Linie Aquavit digestif (Michelle brought the bottle to our table and read to us the story of the traveling Norwegian spirit, named for the equator which it crosses twice during the aging process).
 
Chef Paul Berglund made an appearance at our table to answer the details that our server wasn't sure about. He generously shared his time (as well as recipe tricks) with us, and I was impressed that he spent as many hours testing lefse recipes as I have researching meatballs.

There was one disappointment during our evening together. The summer menu was recently pulled, and out with it went the Swedish pancakes I'd planned on having for dessert. Thankfully, my mood was sweetened with the impossibly good apple, spicy pastry cream, and thinnest of thin crusted tarts.

Every detail of Marvel and Bachelor Farmer is tended. From the art, design, staff, and menu: visitors forget how much planning and effort it takes to pull off such a flawlessly executed effort. Take for example, the temperature of the butter. How did they find the exact perfect temperature at which to serve butter? The lightly salted stuff spread beautifully over the best crispbread I've ever eaten, and a dipped radish swirled up just the right amount.

This was how our love story began. I'll spend these next few weeks fantasizing about what comes next. Perhaps a quick happy hour at Marvel, with a $1 side of Cheetos. Perhaps T and I will sit upstairs across the table from one another sharing from the Toasts menu... And if love has truly found me, there will be pancakes on the menu, although the apple tart would be just as sublime.  Until then, I'll wistfully relive the box of leftover Bunny Butter I devoured the morning after our first date.